The Caged Bird Sings
by FallenAngelFreddie
Summary: Snow finds a second set of prints on the bottle Fusco planted and a mysterious man identifies them as Finch's. Together they plan to lure Reese in by using Finch as bait and Reese will need Carter's and Fusco's help to get their mutual friend back.
1. The Snow Fall

A/N: Hey, guys! This story takes place after last week's episode, Episode 11 Super. If you haven't seen it, I'm sorry. All you need to know is that Finch had Fusco plant a prescription bottle in a vet in Connecticut with Reese's prints on it to throw off Snow and his partner, who I found had a name. lol.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest. The story is mine though. Of course these are all just theories of mine. Enjoy! :) Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1: The Snow Fall

January 2012

Mark Snow descended upon the small town in Connecticut where he knew John Reese had neglected to clean up after himself. It was sloppy, especially for an ex-CIA agent, to leave a print, but he had to admit that when death was knocking at his door, he would be less concerned with leaving a trail and more concerned with doing anything he could just to make sure that trail didn't lead to the grave. He did, however, find it odd that he would travel so far away while injured, but so far he wasn't complaining. They'd just picked up the scent of their rogue and it was about time they finished what they'd set out to do.

The police officers in charge of the case were wary at first of Snow and his men, mysterious and threatening, but immediately decided they would cooperate as long as it helped them find the culprit who had broken into the town's only veterinary hospital.

"Give me all you've got on this." Snow demanded. "The man we're looking for is extremely dangerous and injured to boot."

"How dangerous are we talking here, Agent?" Asked the chief of police stiffly with arms tightly crossed, trying to at least look like he wasn't letting the CIA steamroll him and his department. "Has he killed anyone?"

"Absolutely, Captain." Snow nodded solemnly as his partner placed crime scene photos on his desk. "He's been involved in more murders than we can say. We just want to find him as quickly as possible to avoid any more casualties."

The chief breathed deeply, staring intently at the six pictures on his desk, each one a life stolen by the crazy man. "Heck, this isn't my kind of crime investigation. The most I see around here is petty theft and the neighborhood kids causing trouble." He threw the pictures down and nodded to a young officer who was waiting just outside the door. He entered, carrying with him a file, which the chief took and presented to the two men before him. "As far as I'm concerned, gentlemen, this guys all yours. Have at it."

Snow nodded his thanks. About time, he thought, what a bunch of sloth-slow hicks these guys were. It had taken them this long just to get a look at their files. Disgraceful. He thumbed through the file until he came upon the fingerprints taken off the bottle. Now there was an interesting development.

"Captain, I don't recall you mentioning there being a second set of prints on this prescription bottle." Snow remarked.

"Yes, well, I didn't think to mention it." He acknowledged. "You were only interested in your guy's prints."

"Did you run the other prints too?" Snow continued and the chief nodded.

"Well, of course we did. However, there was no match in our system." He said.

"So, you mean to tell me it wasn't one of the vets in the clinic?" Snow pressed on, growing more intrigued as the captain nodded.

"We just assumed the prints belonged to one of the volunteers. They're not supposed to handle medication, but sometimes it happens." The chief replied, believing this little assumption, but Snow was not convinced of such an unlikely coincidence.

"No, I don't think that's the case here, Captain." He smirked and turned to his partner, Tyrell Evans, who was quickly picking up on what he was hinting at. "I think our boy has an accomplice."

His partner then snapped a photo of the unknown print on his smartphone and ran it against the CIA database. Within a minute they had a match and the African American man was unpleasantly confused as he showed the results to his boss.

"That's impossible." He said quietly to Snow, brows furrowing, but Snow was only growing more and more interested. "There's no match _anywhere_."

Just then, the same officer who had produced the file a moment ago was knocking at the door. He was motioned in by the captain once again. "Sir, there's a phone call for you." The captain reached for the phone on his desk, but the officer shook his head. "Not you, sir." He added to Agent Snow, who took the phone from the Captain's desk, who then left to offer them privacy.

"Mark Snow, yes?" Asked a gravelly voice.

"Depends on who's asking." He replied.

"I know the man you're looking for." He explained. "The prints you just ran." Snow froze uncertainly, but the other man continued to speak. "You won't find him in any system. He saw to that."

"And where exactly did you get that information from?"

"That's not important right now." The man chuckled and Snow was unnerved. "Tell you what, Agent. I have information you need if you're going to find your target, a man by the name of John Reese, if I'm not mistaken, and I know I'm not. I know he's CIA and I know they're working together."

"And why are you telling me this. I'm sure it's not out of the goodness of your heart." Snow asked suspiciously, sensing a motive. He didn't like that he was being offered help by someone other than CIA.

"Right you are." He replied. "There's a car waiting for you and your partner, Mr. Evans, outside. Get in. We'll discuss this more."

Snow scowled. "Sure thing." He hung up and motioned to his partner. They left the station without another word to the captain or anyone else.

As the man on the phone had said, there was, in fact a car waiting for them. A black SUV. The driver ordered them to get in the back and they stiffly and warily complied. They were then taken into a downtown pub where another man awaited them in the dim light wearing a hat that covered his face and a long black jacket.

"Now what kind of business is this?" Snow wondered of the curious figure before him, who smiled.

"I have a proposition for you." He said. "I know you're chasing a dangerous man, someone who you believed to be dead."

Snow nodded warily.

"Now, don't ask me how I know. I have sources I'm not at liberty to disclose to you." He chuckled and Snow and Evans shared a look. "To get directly to the point, I know the man who works with your boy, a very intelligent, very paranoid recluse, a man who is also legally dead. He's hard to track, as flighty as a finch." He smiled at his own private pun, unbeknownst to the two CIA men. "I'm offering my assistance in capturing your little problem, your lone wolf, if you will, so that at the same time, I also get to cage my own little problem."

Snow leaned forward curiously steeping his hands in front of him and smiled.

"Pray tell."

"Apart they're brilliant in their own respects. Together, they're twice as so, but as a team they are still vulnerable and I am here to exploit that weakness: my target." He threw a picture down on the table. "His name's Harold Finch. He's got computer smarts, but he's crippled. We take him and we lead your boy right into a trap."

"I get my guy and you get yours." Snow nodded with a smirk.

"Exactly," the man said. "And this time, they'll stay dead."


	2. The Wolf

A/N: Hey, guys! Hope my little teaser of a first chapter was to your liking. My chapters won't be too quickly posted, but I'll try to be timely about it. Expect a few days between postings. Thanks for your reviews! Hope you all enjoy this next chapter! Happy reading! -Freddie

Disclaimer: These characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest. The story is mine though. Of course these are all just theories of mine. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 2: The Wolf

2 weeks later…

John Reese stayed in the shadow of the alley as he watched his latest person of interest, a real nice guy, but one that he knew for sure was out to kill the man his wife was cheating on him with. He was a ball a nerves, a tall, lanky man that was closer to his work than the woman he'd been married to for ten years. It was rather cold, really, what the woman had done to him. Reese actually felt sympathy for the poor guy.

He had his hood drawn over his face and Reese eyed the gun in his sweatshirt pocket as he approached the house. His hand was on the door handle. That was when Reese chose to make his move.

"You don't want to do this, Mr. Richards." He said quietly from behind the timid middle-aged man and Henry Richards about had a heart attack, starting to hyperventilate rapidly. Reese raised an eyebrow as he turned the man around to face him, the darkness obscuring his face. He only breathed even faster, fogging up his glasses. "Calm down, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to make sure you don't do something you'll regret."

"Please…don't stop me." Richards pleaded, tears in his eyes. "He's _horrid_. He's completely wrong for her."

"I'd be inclined to believe that, but he's not the one with a gun in his pocket and intent to kill." Reese replied, voice devoid of emotion. Richards gulped. "Who's the horrid one again?"

"I'm her husband! This man—,"

"He's your coworker, your best friend. You've worked at the same accounting agency together for twelve years now. You've spent vacations together as families, spent holidays and had parties together. Your kids go to the same school and play sports together." Reese answered for him, leaving the man flabbergasted.

"How do you know so much?" He wondered and Reese shook his head, getting on with saving this man from prison and the cheating bastard his life.

"No, you don't want to kill him." Reese added. "In fact, the only person you want to kill is yourself for letting this happen. However, both options are inadvisable. Both of your children, yours and his, they need their father no matter what happens."

Richards just stared at him, letting the words of the stranger in a black suit sink in, knowing it was all true.

"Me and Rich share a lot of things, but," The man stuttered with a sob. "Wives shouldn't be one of them." He clutched the gun in his pocket and Reese eyed it warily. The man before him was understandably unstable. "If this gets out…The kids…Mara and Nicky. Our families will be in pieces. It'll be such a mess…"

Reese lowered his eyes in respect for the desperate and hopeless man. He hated the fact that he was right. It would be such a mess. It would be heartbreaking. He felt such pity for him and the families that were being ravaged as he stood there.

"True, but killing him will just make it worse for everyone." Reese countered and the man broke into tears, his hands coming away from the gun in his pocket. The ex-CIA agent took this as his opportunity to ask for the gun. "Give me the gun, Mr. Richards." He requested of the distraught man, who then nodded quietly, taking it from his pocket and extending it to the stranger. Reese could've sighed with relief.

"Now, take a long walk to cool down and get your thoughts straight, then go home and wait for your wife. You can talk things out." The man looked up hopefully.

"You think so?" He asked and Reese stood unmoving. He really didn't want to answer that. Henry knew it too. "Yeah, I guess you're right, huh?" It wasn't a question, but a resignation to the inevitable.

"Good-bye, Mr. Richards." Reese finished and turned to walk away, but Henry stopped him.

"Thank you…whoever the hell you are." He said. "Who are you, anyway?" Reese pondered his response.

"I'm just a figment of your imagination." He replied finally and just kept on walking as the man stood there in a daze of confusion.

"I'm just a figment of your imagination? That's a new one, Mr. Reese." Snorted the voice in John Reese's ear. Reese smirked.

"What do you think I should say next time? 'Just your friendly neighborhood stalker?' Yeah, that's _much_ less terrifying." He replied sarcastically.

"Not to criticize, but he's already more than likely going to be going to marriage counseling for a long time." Finch stated. "I didn't think we wanted to send him to a psychiatrist as well."

"I highly doubt he'll ever say anything about me." Reese shrugged to himself. "That would mean admitting he bought a gun off the street with intent to kill a man."

"True…" Finch admitted, ceasing to push the matter. Reese 1, Finch 0.

"So, what's for dinner?" Reese asked, pushing his hands in his pockets. He could have heard Finch's eye roll. "I take it we're having takeout again?"

"No. I actually already made something." Finch said with a hint of pride in his voice. "I _can_ cook, you know."

"Hm, I'll believe that when I see it." Reese grimaced.

"Fine, you eat what you can scrounge up from the depths—"

"Kidding, Finch." Reese grinned, practically hearing the eye roll through his earpiece. "What'd you make?

"Barbeque," He said and Reese nodded appreciatively. Now that sounded like a plan, way better than greasy takeout.

"Sure, you really cook that or did you just stick it in the microwave?" Reese wondered of him as he walked briskly down the street towards the library. They had already moved from the apartment Trask had rented them. Had they stayed it would have put them too close to discovery. Luckily, the library was just as much home as hideout, having all the furnishings of an apartment. And after being targeted by Snow, it was best that he and Finch stay close by each other.

"No, I cooked it, but if it makes you feel better I'll put yours in the microwave."

"Nope, I'm good." Reese replied. "Be there in a minute."

With that, Reese hung up and it wasn't but a moment later that it started to snow. He let it fall on him uncaringly, a mist of white on his dark hair. The cold didn't faze him. His years in Special Ops had gotten him used to harsh circumstances and this weather was hardly a bother. Not to mention he spent all his days scouring the city for people he'd never met, in rain or shine, cold or not, like a wolf after prey. He was used to running like there was no tomorrow, taking shots and suffering torture. After all of that, amidst the chill, he felt rather warm, comfortable.

He knew the city like the back of his hand, constantly aware of his surroundings, almost daring someone to bother him, but for some reason, they never did. Perhaps it was his aura, the image he put on, or just who he was that allowed him to walk invisibly through crowds. Still, even for all his precaution, he wouldn't realize that he was being watched and that they were closer to him than he would have thought. Close enough to touch.

The barbequed pork Finch had prepared was surprisingly good and Reese ate it with gusto, not missing the barely disguised look of amusement on his coworker's face. He didn't care. Let him have his fun. This stuff was too good.

"The microwave did good, Harold." John complimented and Finch nodded his thanks.

"I'm surprised it actually turned out alright. I haven't had time to cook in a long time."

"I guess things have been a little slower the last few days." John agreed. "No complaints over here though."

"We haven't had that many cases lately, have we, Mr. Reese?" He said.

"No, we haven't." He replied after swallowing. "Bored? Is that how you found the time to make this?"

"I'm not bored." Finch explained. "I'm just not busy. It's curious." Reese looked up at him with an expression that begged the question.

"Why curious? Why not relieved?" John wondered of him and Finch sighed.

"Curious because I've gotten up and there are numbers on the list that have already been taken care of before I even see them, Mr. Reese." He said and Reese stared at him. "What's also curious is that I've found police reports on them. All of them anonymous tips."

"That is curious." Reese sat straight, growing very interested in this strange development.

"I don't know what it is. I thought it might be _you_ giving tips to Carter, John. Is it?" Finch wondered and Reese shook his head.

"Even if I wanted to, I don't know how to access the machine, Harold." Reese shot back slowly and Finch nodded.

"That's troubling." He muttered and Reese shot him a perplexed look.

"What, now it's troubling that I'm _not_ giving Carter information?" He asked and Finch nodded again. "Why?"

"Well, if you had been the one accessing these numbers, then it'd be a simple matter of me changing passcodes, but knowing that it's not you…" Finch paused. "Then it leads me to a worse conclusion."

Reese knew exactly where he was headed with this and he didn't like it. So much for a break. "That means someone else besides you and the CIA has access to the machine."

"Exactly."

A little while earlier…

Agent Mark Snow watched from the rooftop above, unmoving, as John Reese made his way to an unknown destination. He counted himself lucky that Reese hadn't had a reason to look up. He would have thought the stealthy man at ease if he hadn't known better. That's why he hadn't made his move just yet, that and the fact that this wasn't just _his_ game at the moment. Now that he had the chance to catch two fugitives, he was going to have a little fun with it.

He motioned to Evans who stood ready beside him and then spoke into a microphone in his sleeve. "Tail him. See where he's going, but don't follow him in."

"You know, you don't have to have him followed." Quipped their mysterious ally. Snow turned to him annoyed. He didn't know what he was doing, working with a working-class civilian. It was more like working _for_ a civilian actually.

"Now why wouldn't I need to do that?"

"I can already tell you where they're hiding out. They're in an abandoned library building near the park." He shrugged. "I already did the tailing for you."

"How?" Snow demanded skeptically. "You don't have any of the training my men have. How did you tail him without him seeing you?"

"Because, agent, I wasn't there to be seen." He smirked. "If you want to do the catching without being caught first, you do your work the same way my target does: behind a computer screen." Snow and Evans merely stared at him suspiciously, but he wouldn't let his face be shown on the streets, ever. It was as if he were always aware of something watching him. What the agents didn't know: there was.

"When do you think we can make a move?" Evans asked and the man chuckled darkly.

"Hard to say." He answered. "For now, we just wait until Mr. Reese is out of the picture. That's when we strike."


	3. The Calm

A/N: Hey, guys. This next chapter takes place after this week's episode, Legacy. I decided to weave just a little bit of that into my story. This should be interesting, no? So, I placed the timing for the flashback in this chapter in 2008 for a reason. In the pilot episode, Finch shows Reese a recording that was dated August 2008, telling him he needs to know what it's like to watch someone die and not be able to do anything about it. Basically I'm assuming that his injury had already occurred before the recording. Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy! -Freddie

Disclaimer: These characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest. The story is mine though. Of course these are all just theories of mine based on their stories. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 3: The Calm

A few days later…

Everyday Reese kept an extra close watch out on what seemed like his daily rounds around the town, looking to spot anything out of the ordinary, but he knew that if someone had access to the machine, then there would be no knowing whether or not someone was following him. So far, nothing had happened, but he wasn't about to take any chances when the machine was concerned.

He'd called Lionel off his boss, but he knew Finch knew and frankly he didn't care. Nothing about Reese was a secret from him, but everything about Finch was off the radar and he didn't appreciate it. Ever since their last case things had been running business as usual, but Finch was obviously preoccupied about something. He'd been poring over computer files most days, declining meals and sleeping minimally. It was obsessive and very troubling. Finally, Reese decided to ask him about it.

"What's set you off, Finch?" He said, startling the bespectacled man who sat at his computers surrounded by papers amongst shelves of books. Reese raised an eyebrow. He was very jumpy.

"If you must know, it was something…" Finch stopped short, debating whether or not to continue. "It was something I was alerted to concerning an old business associate."

"Someone you think knows about the machine?"

"Yes, something like that," Finch replied, rubbing his tired eyes. "I was hoping I might be able to find a suspect."

"Well, you can't find a suspect when you're about ready to drop from exhaustion." Reese hinted and Finch looked up. "Sleep might bring you closer to a name."

"Or the time I waste not looking could bring someone closer to finding us." He retorted and John shrugged.

"Well, for as long as this person's most likely had access, I'm sure he already knows where we're at." He remarked and Finch nodded. "You need to sleep, Finch, or you'll go crazy."

Crazy? He was already crazy. He thought, but didn't bother replying as he simply closed out and locked his computer. He stood to leave, but he wasn't heading for his room. He was grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

"Where are you going, Finch?"

"I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a couple hours." He was about out the door when he stopped to give Reese a stern look. "Oh, and stay away from my monitors, Mr. Reese." He warned. "They watch you too."

"Sure thing, Harold." Reese smiled and Finch was out the door and into the late afternoon sun. He limped down the sidewalk until, before he knew it he was back where it all started, his work with Ingram, the machine. It was a three story building, abandoned since the time he'd ceased to occupy it. He still remembered that day, all of it. How could he forget?

January 2008

Harold Finch, an avid runner at the time, savored the crispness of morning air, the silence of undisturbed leaves as he trotted quietly across the cemented path. His runs, however infrequent as his business so permitted, were always a source of calm and peaceful energy, of patient rhythm and gentle pace, something that the city, travelling at the speed of a computer screen, had never given him.

As much as he loved the solitude of his work and the technology he treasured, he wouldn't have minded a change in atmosphere. No, city life had never suited him much in the beginning. It was too stifling, too chaotic, full of road raging taxi drivers and all things unappealing, but like so many other things, it was an acquired taste. He often missed the sleepy Connecticut town of his youth and the images of fall trees a sea of orange as far as the eye could see.

Here, there was gray. Except for Central Park, that is, and that to him, was heaven away from home. Perhaps when he was finished working on the machine, he might return there…or so he'd fantasize and yet never really go through with. However, it was possible, now that it was in its final stages of encoding. He wondered…

Speaking of the machine…

He checked his watch. 7:00. It was time he started heading home and then to tend to his prized work. An hour later he found him himself freshly cleaned and dressed in slacks and a white dress shirt, sitting at his computer screens once again. He expected Nathan any moment now, his triweekly progress check as it were. If he expected to be the figurehead in their partnership, he would have to be kept up to date on a project that was supposedly his.

As he often did, Finch went first to check what names the machine brought up this time if only to skim the short, usually non-existent, list of so-called "relevant threats to society" and ignore the pang of guilt that rose up within him every time he saw and did nothing about the longer list of threats to individuals, ones that could have been just as easily followed up on and avoided.

His partner thought him callused, uncaring; a cruel businessman that held the nine numbers in his hand that could save lives, but only on a "small scale". He had mistakenly termed them irrelevant for the machine's sake, as if to say a life, one insignificant life, wasn't worth his time. It was sick, not because his closest friend thought him to be a monster, but because Harold himself found it to be—

"Harold! Hey, Harold, are you here?" Greeted the chipper voice of _his_ company's "CEO", perhaps a little too chipper for 8 o'clock in the morning. Harold cleared the screen of his computer before Ingram could spy on the list. Password protected, he wouldn't be able to open it. Of course, Finch knew of Ingram's repeated attempts to access and understand the machine's mechanics, perhaps even to take numbers and alert the police, but he couldn't allow it, not when the government expected themselves to be the only ones with their hands on such a powerful network of surveillance after the end of this week.

"Of course, Nathan, where else would I be?" He mused and Ingram laughed as he approached, holding a steaming paper cup in each hand. As he came closer, he extended one to Finch, presumably a green tea as noted by the tag hanging from the side. He smiled and accepted it gratefully.

"I don't know." Ingram shrugged. "You never have to leave this hole. You have all you need in one place and what you don't have you can have brought to you in a timely fashion and, knowing you, I would assume that you wouldn't want to leave unless absolutely necessary."

"Only partially true, Nathan." Finch raised an eyebrow as he sipped at his drink, perfect temperature, just hot enough to be hot, but not hot enough to scald. "I have what I need that permits me the opportunity of not leaving, but not everything one needs can be found in stale air and four walls."

"Hah, four walls." Ingram laughed. "This place is like a maze. You change passcodes every day, cut off passages. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten lost coming here."

"I planned it that way." Finch smirked and Ingram gave him an annoyed look while sipping his coffee. "You never know when you might need to shake someone off your tail."

"Even your best friend?" Ingram stared down at the shorter man who only stared back stonily, taken by surprise, before looking off to the side. Suddenly they weren't discussing walls anymore, or perhaps maybe a different kind of barrier.

"Even your best friend, Mr. Ingram." He replied quietly and returned to his computer, leaving Ingram standing there with an uncertain look on his face, a forced, very tight smile.

"Not that I expect _you_ to try anything, Nathan." Finch continued and Ingram nodded with the same forced smile, although more than a little hurt. "You know me more than I'd care to admit. I'm just—."

"Paranoid, I know." Nathan filled in and Finch gave him a look.

"Cautious." He said. "After all, the ones who know you best are the ones that can hurt you the most."

"Damn it, Harold, enough already!" Nathan shouted with a scowl. "What's wrong with you? You don't trust anyone! Why can't you trust me? Why?"

Finch remained silent as he stared open-mouthed at his screen and Ingram could only stare back at him, hurt evident on his face. He turned to leave and Finch hadn't noticed him walk out, too startled by what he was seeing on the screen before him: Ingram's number at the top of his list. He looked up just a moment later to find an empty spot where his colleague had just been.

"Nathan, wait!" He said shouted, fear written on his face, but Ingram was already to the elevator and without warning of what to expect as he left the safety of their hideout. "Nathan!"

Ingram was already across the street getting into a taxicab, but Finch wasn't about to stop, not before he heard what he had to say. "Nathan, hold on!"

So desperate he was to get to his partner that he crossed unthinking into traffic. He saw Ingram finally look up and the panic on his face as he saw something Finch had not: the delivery truck that was headed straight for him.

"Harold, watch out!" Ingram shouted and he had only enough time to turn his head mid-stride and face the truck head on. He didn't even have time to be afraid…

January 2012

His ex-partner thought him callused, uncaring; a cruel businessman that held the nine numbers in his hand that could save lives, but only on a "small scale". He had mistakenly termed them irrelevant for the machine's sake, as if to say a life, one insignificant life, wasn't worth his time. It was sick, not because his closest friend thought him to be a monster, but because Harold himself found it to be true…

…Not anymore…

No, not anymore. Not after that, not after that day. What happened then was what got him to start pursuing the numbers that came up, but also part of the reason why he didn't want Carter to know about the machine, his cursed blessing that caused so much grief, but was able to bring joy, as bittersweet as it was at times. It was always a win when a crisis was averted or resolved, but it was never an entirely happy ending because somehow, when it came to the machine, someone still ended up dying.

Reese just didn't understand and he really hadn't expected him to understand without experiencing what Finch had experienced, without knowing what he knew. One thing he knew about power and having too much of it was that when the opportunity arose, someone, even the best of people who had never had one inclination towards the pursuit of power, would be the most easily corrupted. It was a battle Finch often waged within himself when he had created the power and had given it to himself.

It was a dangerous game, playing with all the cards and holding them close at the expense of keeping others far away. Trying and failing to keep that tentative balance had led to his "death" and he would've been all the happier for it had it not taken his partner down with him and ultimately killing him. Luckily enough for him, the machine had already been fully encrypted and his back door built before having been tossed to the ravaging wolves; CIA, like Reese, but Reese was different.

Reese was the only other person who he would ever tell about the machine and that was that. Fusco wouldn't know and neither would Carter, so help him. Already there were too many people involved and if Carter knew, it would only be a matter of time before someone got suspicious and she would end up spilling their secret to someone else until such a dark secret wasn't so secret anymore and it spiraled out of control. He vowed he would not let that happen, never. He just hoped the same wedge of secrecy and distrust he'd driven between him and Ingram wasn't being wedged between him and Reese.

Reese had waited until Finch was out the door and onto the sidewalk before he was seated immediately in front of the monitor. Sure, Finch's _own_ monitors watched _him_. That was the worst bluff ever. Then again…John glanced at the duct tape covering each spot where a little built in camera should have been on each monitor. Maybe that wasn't such a bluff after all…but it didn't stop him from nosing around.

Quickly he entered the password he'd watched Finch enter so many times and set to work, going through all his search history, all his files, all the people he'd searched, all of them from his own company. From among them one name in particular jumped out at him, one that he'd heard before: Nathan Ingram. One article heading filled his eyes: "Billionaire's Tragic Death".

Was Finch investigating his own figurehead CEO? The man was dead, but then again, so were they. Intrigued, he continued to dig into the files his mysterious boss had been examining all day, trying to see the situation from his partner's point of view. He had been sitting there so long that before long an hour had passed without his knowledge. He had been searching and had come up with nothing but vague theories.

"What did you find, Finch?" He asked himself aloud, only he didn't expect a response.

"What? You mean besides you at my desk _again_?" A familiar voice said slowly, angrily, and Reese froze. He braced himself for what was coming next before turning around in the chair his boss often occupied to face the other man.

Finch.


	4. The Storm

A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks for your reviews! I know it's been a little slow as this has just been building up to what the summary promises, but, finally, the real action begins in this chapter! Enjoy

Disclaimer: These characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest. The story is mine though. Of course these are all just theories of mine based on their stories.

Chapter 4: The Storm

"_What did you find, Finch?" He asked himself aloud, only he didn't expect a response._

"_What? You mean besides you at my desk _again_?" A familiar voice said slowly, angrily, and Reese froze. He braced himself for what was coming next before turning around in the chair his boss often occupied to face the other man._

_Finch. _

Reese and Finch were at a standoff for what seemed like minutes but in reality it had only lasted a few seconds. Finch's stare was cold and frigid and Reese knew that he was about to get ripped a new one by the furious billionaire.

"Hi, Finch." Reese greeted simply, still sitting in Finch's chair. His glare never faltered. "So, how was your walk?"

No response.

"I know who you're thinking is accessing the machine."

"Oh, and who might that be?" He snapped, eyes flashing, daring him to go on. "Pray tell."

"Nathan Ingram, ex-CEO of your company." Reese replied, returning the dangerous look. Whatever Finch could have done Reese would pale in comparison to what Reese could do back. "I know he's dead, but so are we."

"You're wrong. Why were you reading my personal files, Mr. Reese? How did you get my password?" Finch interrogated and Reese shrugged.

"Well, you've been burying yourself in them while I've been doing nothing but watching. I don't think you've noticed, but your guard's been pretty lax since you started." He replied with a laugh at which Finch scowled. Reese raised an eyebrow. He really had set him off this time.

"You've no business looking at those files, John."

"Oh, yeah, just like I have no business knowing that you've been meeting with his son and that it was something he told you that got you digging through these files."

"Quite right; you don't." Finch growled. "That's personal, Mr. Reese."

"Possibly," Reese admitted, "but wouldn't it be better to tell me what your theories are when there's a possible threat to both of our lives?"

"We don't know there's a threat to our lives." Finch countered and Reese stood, taking a few long, imposing strides toward him until he was less than a foot away. He was getting tired of this game.

"Finch, it would be wise for you to remember that I'm the one who kills people without flinching and you're the one who flinches at the sight of a gun. I could easily get information out of you the hard way." He threatened, staring down at him and Finch clenched his jaw tightly.

"You wouldn't dare." He shot back.

"Maybe, maybe not. Normally I'd be above hitting a cripple, but I can make an exception." Reese frowned as his boss blanched at the name, but continued to stare down at him.

"_Get out, Mr. Reese._" Finch said slowly, but Reese continued to speak.

"You know who else is monitoring the machine, but you're not willing to say, are you?" Finch looked away slightly, betraying the fact that he _did_ have some inclination. "I want answers, Finch."

"I don't have any." Finch claimed and Reese snorted.

"Sure, I'll buy that." He said sarcastically as he returned to Finch's computers, grabbing a list he had made of people from his company. "How about I just take these to Carter and get answers myself?"

"Stop, Mr. Reese." Finch warned, eyes wide, panicked that he had his hands on so many names. "You can't just go rousing suspicions by getting her to run searches on people for no reason, especially people that are dead!"

"Harold, if you're not going to help me, then I will go to Carter." Reese finished.

"You can't tell her about the machine—"

"Oh, but I will. It's as simple as that." With that, Reese stalked past the dumbstruck Finch.

"Where are you going?"

"You told me to get out and right now, I'm happy to oblige." Reese replied smartly and strode out the door, headed for the street, anywhere where he could get away from Finch and cool down for a bit. If he was still so sure that he would go to Carter for help after a few hours then he would, but making such a rash decision then would have been the wrong thing to do.

January 2008

_"Nathan, wait!" He said shouted, fear written on his face, but Ingram was already to the elevator and without warning of what to expect as he left the safety of their hideout. "Nathan!"_

_Ingram was already across the street getting into a taxicab, but Finch wasn't about to stop, not before he heard what he had to say. "Nathan, hold on!"_

_So desperate he was to get to his partner that he crossed unthinking into traffic. He saw Ingram finally look up and the panic on his face as he saw something Finch had not: the delivery truck that was headed straight for him._

_"Harold, watch out!" Ingram shouted and he had only enough time to turn his head mid-stride and face the truck head on. He didn't even have time to be afraid…_

The truck slammed into him with all its might and he was too shocked to comprehend what had just happened to him. He was sprawled out on the asphalt staring up at the gray sky, gasping for the breath that had been stolen from him. Time had seemed so much slower. His paralysis, the shocked bystanders, the skidding of brakes as traffic was suddenly stopped, the shouting for people to call an ambulance: it was all so surreal. Then the pain—time seemed to return to normal and the pain hit him all at once.

The driver was kneeling at his side in a panic and so was Ingram, looking down at him with shock and worry.

"Harold! Oh my God, Harold! Speak to me!" He shouted and Harold felt his mouth move like a gaping fish as he tried to breathe. Unable to process the shear amount of mind-shattering pain, fear, and confusion, his body processed it for him and he did the only thing he could do. He screamed, loudly.

"Don't just stare at him, you idiot!" Ingram shouted at the driver, who shook with the fear as he took in the gravity of what he'd just done. "Call the damn police! NOW!" He nodded shakily and returned to his truck to retrieve his phone.

"Na-Nathan—," Finch stuttered and Ingram turned to the man on the ground.

"Shh, it'll be okay." He said quietly. "Don't speak."

"N-No, i-it won't…be okay." Finch continued, pausing to draw in a jittery breath. He was shaking too, his heart racing. Ingram smiled reassuringly, but Finch saw it differently. His eyes began to water from the pain. "It won't—it won't be okay, because that's not how this was meant to play out was it?"

"My number came up, didn't it?" Ingram wondered and Finch tried to nod, but only cried out in pain as he understood that his neck was broken badly. Ingram only continued to smile. "That's what you ran out here to tell me didn't you?"

"Y-y-yes…" He sputtered, growing more crestfallen with each passing second.

"That's what made you get hit by an 'oblivious' truck driver, isn't it?" Ingram stopped smiling and Finch began to glare. "The machine told you I was about to be involved in a 'very bad situation', didn't it?"

"Yes, it did."

"Looks like you were right, Harold." Ingram chuckled. "After all, as you say, the machine never lies."

"You…" Finch glared, trying to move his hand so he could punch the man, but Ingram held his arms secure as he squirmed in pain. He thought Ingram only pretending to be acting out of worry for his friend.

"Now, now, don't move, Harold." He ordered as the helpless man's glare turned to despair, a look of utter betrayal on his face. "It looks like you're going to be out of commission for a while."

"I thought we were partners…" Finch whispered, eyelids becoming very heavy. He probably had a concussion. He couldn't let himself fall asleep. "You betrayed me…" He said through blurry eyes and Ingram nodded.

"Don't take it personal, Harold." He said steadily, holding Finch's failing gaze. "If I hadn't done this, someone else would have."

January 2012

Harold watched his partner leave, wanting desperately to give him the answers he craved, but too angry to stop him. He _had_ just threatened him after all, insulted him in the deepest way. In all reality, Finch did have a suspect, but it was too early to tell, too outlandish to really believe. He and Ingram had kept the machine as secret as possible and if anyone who had accidently found out—Wait…maybe…there was someone.

With a sudden burst of energy, Finch limped to his computer and began searching through files once again. He remembered one person, someone who _had_ accidently found out, someone who did know about the machine, an unfortunate colleague who had continued to dig until they had him fired. Could he have done the impossible and accessed the machine for himself?

Perhaps Reese was right, he should have told him his suspicions. He was about to phone him when, to his surprise, the door opened and shut behind him. What a relief. He was back already.

"Mr. Reese, you're back just in time." Finch said, not bothering to turn around. "I have a suspect in mind. Maybe you'd like to know…?" He then turned to find someone who was definitely not his partner. Snow.

"Sorry, Harold, but John's not here."

Finch shot out of his chair, locking his computer as he watched some of his men follow him inside. Fear spread to every part of him and his eyes widened as he caught sight of the guns targeting him. He backed away, straight into the wall, and they only closed in around him. He didn't suppose poking any of them in the eyes would have been an option…?

"Nice try, trying to throw us off and all. Very clever." Snow smirked and Finch glared despite his shaking. "Of course, you made one mistake." Snow took from his pocket the evidence bag containing the pill bottle they had planted and showed it to the terrified man. "Your prints are on here too. Imagine our surprise when there was no match, but then out of nowhere we get a phone call from an old friend of yours, who gives us all the intel we need to catch you."

"Good for you. You found us." Finch spat. "But if you've been watching us for so long then why come when _he's not here_?"

"Well, that's exactly why we came now. _He's_ not here, but _you_ are." Snow laughed and Finch gulped, wanting nothing more than to phase through the wall he had pressed himself against and straight to the street below. Finch didn't like where this was going. "You see, we wanted to avoid another shootout like last time and we thought a little leverage might be just the thing to bring him in quietly."

The men with guns inched closer to him and Finch could only stare fearfully back as they grabbed his arms and forced him rather painfully and awkwardly to his knees, arms still in their grasp. He only stopped struggling as a gun was put to the back of his head. The feel of the cold metal was all he needed to remain still.

"And what if he doesn't come?" Finch asked, voice wavering, hoping to plant a seed of doubt in Snow's head. "I'm just a source of income for him, his boss."

"Well, considering you've saved his life once, I think he owes you." Snow shrugged with a chuckle. "Give me his phone." He said and another one of his men took it from inside his coat pocket, holding it out to Snow. He then took it and snapped a picture of the pitiful sight, held immobile with a gun to his head hung and glasses on the floor, looking fearfully up at him.

"Drug him." He ordered and Finch struggled fiercely. He tried to pull away, but their grip was too strong and he too weak to break away. The chloroform soaked cloth was over his mouth before he could hold his breath, but even as his vision blurred, he tried to fight as much as his body would allow him. His limbs grew sluggish and he gave one last jerk before his strength failed him and he fell as he succumbed to drugged sleep. He could only hope he was still on Reese's good side.

The two men were kneeling beside their captive as Evans approached from behind Snow, who was tapping away at Finch's phone keyboard. Send as picture message? Yes. Select Contact: John.

_Come and get me. Snow._

Message sent.

"That ought to piss him off." He snorted, leaving Finch's phone on his desk and watched on as one of his men took the unconscious man over his shoulder back out the way they'd come. Snow then took the small cardboard box Evans was holding and placed it on the desk full of computer monitors. "See you soon, Mr. Reese."

A/N: Note to all. In this chapter's flashback, you may be wondering what exactly Ingram's son knows about Finch's and Ingram's partnership. Considering he says that his dad left him "his half of the company", I'm assuming Will Ingram does know that they share the company, but doesn't know Finch is working as an underling. If you're wondering about what other things he knows, considering his dad did just try to kill Finch, and yet here he is playing uncle to him present day, don't worry. That will be explained later. Review please! ;)


	5. The Bird

A/N: Hey, guys! Seems like you all really enjoyed my last chapter! Yay! Thanks so much for your reviews! Anywho, there is one point I kind of want to address. Riptide2 pointed out something with Ingram's son and what he might/might not know and I'm glad for that. I realized literally ten minutes after posting when the same episode was on that I'd missed something kind of important. He thinks they're involved in two _completely different_ industries. Will doesn't even know they're partners and believes Finch to be less than capable with advanced computers. Whoops. Don't worry. That plays nothing into the story so far! Just wanted to get that out of the way. Enjoy and review! -Freddie

Disclaimer: These characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest. The story is mine though. Of course these are all just theories of mine based on their stories.

Chapter 5: The Bird

"_Where are you going?"_

"_You told me to get out and right now, I'm happy to oblige." Reese replied smartly and strode out the door, headed for the street, anywhere where he could get away from Finch and cool down for a bit. If he was still so sure that he would go to Carter for help after a few hours then he would, but making such a rash decision then would have been the wrong thing to do._

Reese had hardly set foot through the threshold of a nearby pub before his phone rang in his pocket, probably Finch trying to get him to come back. He looked down, but to his surprise, it wasn't him calling.

"Not now, Carter." He sighed, taking the call on his earpiece. He sat down on a bar stool and motioned to the bartender for a beer. Carter laughed.

"Well, good evening to you too," She replied, slightly amused, slightly worried. "You sound like your girlfriend just kicked you out."

"If by girlfriend, you mean _Burdett_, then you'd be correct." He snorted and Carter raised an eyebrow on the other side of the phone.

"You two get in a fight or something?"

"Is there something you need, Carter?" He said quickly, not particularly keen on answering.

"Well, I was hoping for maybe coffee and conversation like two _normal_ grown-ups that aren't evading arrest, but I can hear you're a little preoccupied with a Bud at the moment." Carter continued and Reese smirked. It wasn't that loud in the bar, but he guessed she might be able to discern that quickly enough. He looked at the time on his phone 6:30.

"You could always join me, Carter." He said slyly, catching her off guard. Why not? The night was young and he could use some company that wasn't Finch for once. "What do you say?"

"Um—sure, sounds good. I'll be right there." She replied and Reese couldn't help but smile at how flustered she was. "…Where is _there_?" she added and he relayed an address to her before hanging up, his drink arriving just after. He shook his head, hands stroking the smooth, cold glass in his hands without thought. He leaned his neck back and then forward, stretching out some of the tension before taking his list of names from his pocket. Maybe it was best that she'd called? Maybe he could recruit her help in finding their leak? He was getting nowhere with Finch, that was certain.

He brought the glass to his lips and had only managed a small taste before his phone went off again, not a phone call, but a message from Finch's phone, a message he would have rather not received. Had his beverage been resting on the bar, his face would have been the only thing that would convey his horror, but the drink was in his hand until it found its place on the floor in a puddle of amber and broken glass, so shocked he was by what stared him in the face.

His partner, terrified eyes looking straight out at him, almost as if he could see him. He was on his knees, a gun to the back of his head. As soon as he saw it, it was burned into his memory, one glimpse and it would never leave him.

"_Come and get me. Snow._"

Snow? Snow? How the hell did he have access to the machine? It didn't make any sense! That son of a—

"Hey! You're paying for that, right?" The bartender shouted at him hoarsely, unaware of what had caused him to react as such. Reese had half a mind to ignore him, but withdrew a twenty from his wallet, threw it on the counter and was out the door before the man could reply. He sprinted down the street, rushing through crowds and no doubt irking a few people in the process, but he really didn't care. He had to get back to the library. That was all he cared about then.

Being less than five minutes away at walking speed, he managed to cross the distance in less than half the time at a dead run, but there was, of course, no sign of his friend or his abductors outside. He scaled the stairs inside two at a time and didn't stop until he'd reached the room in which Finch had kept his computers, drawing his gun as soon as he entered. Nothing was amiss, nothing tampered with, nothing out of place. There was, however, a small cardboard box beside Finch's discarded phone on his desk, uh, table…station? Whatever he called it, a box sat on it. He almost didn't go near it, but figured it wasn't a bomb, especially when the box…moved?

He pointed his gun at the box as it twitched, like something had rammed against the inside wall. Then there was a rapid tapping sound. He eyed it strangely, lowering his weapon, but not staying it. That was no bomb, whatever it was. "What the…?"

He approached it slowly, stopping when it moved or something tapped the inside of the box. Then, of all things, it emitted a high chirping sound, non-threatening, just surprising, not mechanical, but natural. He really hoped Snow wasn't playing a cruel game with him. Ceasing his paranoid movements, he finally looked at the box from above. There was nothing written on it. The box chirped again. Were those holes poked in the top?

That was it. He took a knife from his pocket and cut through the seal, being careful not to jostle the incredibly light parcel. The chirping got louder, annoyingly so.

He opened it up and pulled apart the flaps and, to his great surprise, a little tiny bird, a finch to be exact, was staring up at him with a cocked head, like most birds would. He expected it to fly off, but it didn't and he could see why. Broken wing. It merely chirped and hopped off of an envelope, which Reese was able to reach in and grab before it pecked at him. Unable to fly, it only hopped around inside the little box. That sounded familiar.

_Great, now my boss really is a bird._ He thought cynically and put it off to the side, greatly disturbed by Snow's sick sense of humor.

_John, _

_Good to see you're up and well. After out last encounter, I wasn't expecting to see you alive again, but as you can see we've figured out how you've managed to evade us for as long as you have. I'd love to see how long you would have made it without you're little informant's high-tech toy, but now's the time to stop playing games. If you want to see him alive again, you'll surrender yourself peacefully. If you decide Harold's life isn't entirely worthless then you'll meet us in Central Park at 7:00 PM tomorrow night. That should be enough time to make a decision. Come alone and unarmed or that bird will be the only thing left of him. _

_ Snow_

Reese crumpled the paper in his fist, bringing his other hand to his forehead, gun pointed towards the ceiling, and he sunk to the floor as it all hit him. Finch was in trouble and it was because of him, because he was being chased, hunted. If he hadn't have left then Snow wouldn't have been able to get to him. If he hadn't have been so upset with wanting stupid answers—

His phone rang and he snatched it from his pocket, checking the caller id. Carter.

"Hey, I'm here, but I don't see you." She said and he breathed deeply. Should he tell her? Involving her was part of the reason why he and Finch were in such a mood, but right now he didn't think that mattered much.

"John, you there?" She prodded and he had made up his mind. "Is everything okay?"

Already he didn't like how this was going, not at all. One, they knew his name. That alone was troubling. Two, they knew about the machine. That was even more troubling and it meant someone else was working with him. And three, not once did Snow ever say he would let Finch go. Now that was downright terrifying.

"No, Carter, I need your help." He said quietly, not realizing the emotion in his voice. "If you wanted to know what it is we do, now's your chance."


	6. The Cage

A/N: Hey, guys! Thank you so much for your reviews! They just make my day! Speaking of reviews, one of you asked what tipped me off to Ingram possibly being alive. What made me theorize his involvement is based off of the end of Super. Finch told Ingram he was the only one who would ever know how the Machine worked and if you caught the very last thing the machine printed out, it said "Nathan Ingram-Threat Detected." My mind took it from there. Lol. ;) Now for Chapter 6! ;D Enjoy! -Freddie

Disclaimer: Characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest. Story is mine though. Of course, these are all just theories of mine based on their stories.

Chapter 6: The Cage

Finch awoke maybe a few hours later with a groan, his neck and leg stiff and sore. He felt groggy and nauseous from the chloroform, but otherwise unharmed, for the time being at least. His hands were cuffed around a pipe and he was lying very uncomfortably on the floor, aged and scuffed wood flooring, like one might find in an older apartment. He sat up, leaning against the wall, and looked around as his eyes adjusted to the low light, using what little light that came in through the crack beneath the door.

He wasn't really sure how long he'd been out and it was too dark to tell. He guessed it was nighttime dark, but wherever he was, he could tell the room was completely bare except for the pillow and blanket they had left sitting beside him. At least they were amiable enough to give him that, and it was even within his reach. There was a window, but it looked like it was boarded up from the outside. They were probably trying to keep a low profile by renting an old and inexpensive apartment that seemed as unlived in and abandoned as possible. He wondered if this was where they had been staying the whole time they'd been searching for Reese.

Finch shook his hand cuffs, trying to loosen them, but when he heard voices or footsteps in the hall, he froze, hoping they would not soon come in and realize he was awake. He would rather spend his time alone in the dark than in the light with Snow or one of his men. But, of course, they figured he was awake and he soon heard the metallic clunking of someone unlocking the door. It was probably a lock like one might put on a shed. Finch was only able to sit in his place in the far corner and await the confrontation.

When the door opened, the light from outside was blinding, as dull as it might have been normally, when he hadn't been sitting in the dark. It was Snow who walked in, turning the light on before stuffing his hands in his pockets. Finch glared through his squinting.

"Good evening, Mr. Finch," He greeted, "or whatever your name really is."

Finch smirked to himself. Even the CIA didn't know his last name. After he'd "died", he'd done well to hide himself.

"I'm sorry we had to involve you in our little recovery mission, but it's really important that I get John Reese back." Snow explained in false sincerity.

"Why, exactly?" Finch questioned. "It can't be terribly important because you almost killed him the last time you tried to 'get him back'."

Snow smiled. "Purely unintentional, I assure you."

"Which part: the fact that you almost killed him or the fact that you _almost_ killed him?" Harold shot back and Snow remained silent. "You can stop pretending you're on a sacred mission to reclaim a rogue agent now. You used the same technique in convincing that detective to sell him out. It won't work on me."

"I figured it was worth a shot." Snow shrugged and took a few steps closer to Finch until he was standing right over him. "Now, how did you manage to find a man that even we couldn't find?"

Finch didn't say anything.

"It's a little peculiar, no offense, to find our guy taking orders from someone like you."

Finch blinked, but didn't speak. He wouldn't exactly say Reese "took orders" from him. More or less, he did whatever the heck he wanted. Finch just gave him names and a shove in the right direction and John picked up the scent from there.

"Believe it or not, I'm inclined to think maybe _you're_ more of the problem than he is."

"Define problem." Finch said sarcastically and Snow laughed, crouching to his level.

"Well, I'm sure you'd understand how finding one of our agents that, as you can guess was dead for a reason, to be alive and active, spotted and pegged to numerous cases over the course of a few months can be a _little_ bit of a problem for me." Snow explained and Finch nodded. If his and Reese's job saving lives was a problem, then he was proud to be a problem, especially Snow's.

"Now, why haven't you asked me about the person who helped us find you and your little information influx?"

Finch eyed him. "Because I think I already know who it is."

"Well then, you'll see for certain soon enough." Snow replied, getting ready to leave. "Oh, before I forget." Finch was caught off guard when Snow's foot collided with his stomach, not once, not twice, but three times. Finch coiled in on himself, trying to block the blows, but Snow succeeded in leaving him breathless and gasping. Satisfied, he proceeded to the door, before turning around again. "Evans is picking up a late dinner. Turkey or ham?"

Finch gave him a strange look through his pain. Did he really just knock the wind out of him and then ask his preference in deli meats? He wouldn't have responded to that even if he had the breath to speak it. Snow shrugged nonchalantly and walked out. "I guess I'll be making the call on that one, eh, Mr. Finch?"

Reese waited the extra few minutes it took Carter to find the library in complete silence, staring at that picture on his phone, the reminder of what he'd allowed to happen. Already he was planning the many ways in which he could exact his revenge. He could have made it quick, but slow and painful suited him just fine. The body would most likely be fish food in Oyster Bay, or he could take a leaf out of that doctor's book and soak him in acid. He liked that idea. First thing's first though. He had to get Finch back.

"Reese?" Carter asked worriedly as she crossed the threshold and saw him sitting in Finch's desk chair. She frowned when he tossed her the phone and then gasped in shock. "How the heck did Snow find him? I didn't tell him anything, I swear."

"I know you didn't, Carter." Reese replied. "Someone's been watching us for a few days. We didn't know who, but now I know they're working with Snow. It's a trade. I give myself up to Snow, thinking they'll let my partner go, but then they both get what they want. They don't know I figured it out, but that's about all I've got right now."

"So that's why you brought me here." Carter said pensively as she gave him back the phone. "What is this place, John?

"This is our headquarters." He replied, spreading his arms to indicate the entirety of the library building. "Finch's—"

"—Finch? That's his name?" Carter asked suddenly and John nodded.

"His name's Harold Finch, at least one of them. That's what name he's given me to call him." Reese said and she shook her head.

"This guy gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'closed book', doesn't he?"

"You got that right." Reese said flatly. If he hadn't been so secretive maybe they wouldn't be in this mess. "Normally, he'd kill me if I told you what I'm about to tell you, but considering someone's out to kill us, someone else might beat him to it. I'm going to tell you how we know so much about—"

"Freeze!" Someone shouted and they froze at the sound of a gun cocking. Reese sighed. He knew that voice. "Reese? Carter?"

"Fusco? Reese?" Carter repeated incredulously. Her bewildered face said what her mind thought.

"Hello, Lionel." Reese greeted in annoyance, turning to face their unexpected arrival, standing dumbstruck with his gun by his side. "I hadn't been planning on you coming, but I could use your help too. Detective, I'm sure you two are fairly well acquainted with each other, but I don't think he's told you how he's been working for me from the start."

"Fusco, you knew about him the _whole_ time?" Carter shouted and rounded on the man as he held his hands up in defense. She actually looked like she might punch him. _This should be interesting._

"Hey, hold up a minute! I didn't have any choice!"

"Didn't have a choice? What kind of lame excuse is that? You had me running in circles all this time and you knew exactly where they were?"

"Well, um, not exactly! I followed you here! This is the first time I've been here! I swear!"

"Oh, and why should I believe a word you say?"

While they were busy sorting things out, Reese turned in Finch's chair and set to work, opening the computer with the same password he'd used earlier. He was surprised Finch hadn't changed it immediately, supposing he had any time to do so. He had just opened the page when he saw what Finch had been looking at last. He was a man by the name of Walter Shawn, a lawyer, and according to this, one of the lawyers that dealt with all of Nathan Ingram's final affairs, but Walter Shawn hadn't always been Walter Shawn.

He had once been Nicholas Land and, more importantly, an employee of Ingram's in 2003 as a younger man. He had a degree in Computer Science and his resume was promising. Yes, he had been fired, but it looked like he had managed to climb the ladder quickly somewhere else and Reese assumed it wasn't by chance that he ended up having his past boss as a client. Clever man. John smirked. He wondered if he had the same developing computer skills as Harold had already achieved. If so, Reese bet he knew _why_ he was fired and if that was true, then he could safely say he knew who was watching them.

"Are those personnel files?" Carter interrupted, coming up behind him to study the setup. Fusco too stood beside her. "There're so many monitors. What is all this?"

"This, Detectives, is what gives us our information." Reese replied. "_This_, Detectives, is the Machine."


	7. The Leopard

A/N: Hey guys! Thank you for your reviews! I know you hate me for all the cliffhangers, but I love the dramatic element of ending things abruptly. Ha-ha. Sorry! So, the reason I'm calling this chapter "The Leopard" is sticking to my theme of animal portrayals, aside from Snow. The leopard refers to Carter and this chapter is mostly her point of view so I thought I'd call it that. I don't know why, but I just think a leopard suits her. She's swift and elusive, and she's pretty dang smart to have been able to get as far as she has following Reese and Finch. On that note: any guesses on what Fusco might be? Find out next chapter! Lol. Enjoy! –Freddie

Disclaimer: These characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest. The story is mine though. Of course, these are just theories of mine based on their stories.

Chapter 7: The Leopard

8:00 PM

Carter stood there in awe of what Reese had revealed to her, a system, a machine of unimaginable power. She wondered how something so extensive could even exist and operate efficiently. It saw everything and heard everything. It made her queasy, but it explained everything, all the things Reese had been involved with, how he was always at the right place at the right time, how he'd known someone was trying to kill her…

She shuddered. It was such a terrible reality, but a reality all the same. Now she understood why they were so secretive, why they would have never told her, and now that she knew, she almost wished she didn't. She almost wished she'd never started chasing the guy in a suit. Of course, she knew that she couldn't simply forget. It was a lot more complicated than that.

"You make some peculiar friends, Mr. Reese." Carter breathed, staring at the monitors in muted disbelief. Reese nodded in agreement, still staring at the screen as he perused more documents.

"You could say that." He smirked. Finch was peculiar indeed, eccentric billionaire peculiar.

"I can't believe he developed this entire thing by himself." She continued. "It must have taken him years and years."

"It did." Reese replied through the contemplative fist against his mouth. Carter wasn't surprised. He always seemed to be pondering something, but today she knew exactly what he was thinking about: just how he was going to get the ring leader of this circus act back without getting any of them killed.

"So, this means the little guy with the glasses is more than just…" Fusco started and faltered as Carter gave the stout man an icy look. "A little guy with glasses…" Fusco looked very much intimidated and it was just as well. She was hoping for that effect.

"He bugs our phones on a daily basis, Fusco. That should tell you something right there." She reminded him as she withdrew her phone from her pocket. Reese failed to look over, but Carter didn't miss his satisfied twitch of a smile. She sighed. "We can settle this later, after this is over." Carter then turned her attention to Reese. "What's the plan? You always seem to have one."

"Right now," Reese sat back in frustration, still thinking. "I'm not sure what to do yet."

Carter nodded sympathetically. It must've been hard for him to admit something like that.

"I don't know," he continued in a quiet voice, "if he really has had access to the machine for so long, why he doesn't just let Snow come in _right now_ and kill us all." Reese paused, brow furrowing as the little bird in the box decided to make its presence known again. Both Carter's and Fusco's eyes travelled to the chirping box that still sat on his desk. Reese had shown them both it and the note that came with it and based on its incessant chirping, Carter figured it wanted out of the box. She wondered if Reese somehow already had a bird cage lying around somewhere.

"You think this guy is trying to pull strings in all this?" Fusco questioned and Reese shook his head slightly. Carter listened intently, trying to take apart the idea for herself. Maybe it was a control-issue, telling them that if he wanted to, their stranger could end them in an instant, but for some reason wouldn't do it.

"No, I think Mr. Shawn is a little too cocky and thinks we won't be able to find him without Finch at the controls. He doesn't think I have access to the machine." He added, standing up and leaving the room for a moment. He came back with an old, beaten up bird cage that, as Carter had thought, had been lying around in the library somewhere. "But find him we will."

"Where did you manage to find one of those in all this mess?" Fusco interjected and Reese shrugged nonchalantly.

"I remembered seeing it in a storage closet once." He explained and Fusco shook his head in confusion. "One of the librarians had a pet…"

"Well, what trail did your friend leave for us to follow?" Carter wondered, feeling energized by the sudden resolve. They had a lead and with all the information Reese had at his fingertips, it was more than just a good start.

"Actually, it's one Shawn left." Reese replied, taking the little bird gently, yet firmly in his grasp and placing it in the rusted cage. "Lionel, remember how I was having you tail Finch?" Fusco nodded. "He was meeting someone," Reese sat back down at the computer and pulled up the file on Nathan Ingram, followed by William Ingram's own file, "this man's, Finch's ex-partner's son, Will."

"What does he have to do with Walter Shawn?" Carter asked, leaning towards the screens in interest.

"He handled all of Nathan Ingram's affairs in respect to his company, which was left partly to his son after his death." Reese spouted off. "Coincidentally, said son just recently returned to New York, to the country actually, and this was the first time he could return some 'sensitive' files to him."

"So, we get to Will Ingram, we get to Shawn." Fusco summarized and Reese nodded.

"We find Shawn, we find Finch."

"Then what's our plan to talk to Mr. Ingram without making him suspicious?" Carter supplemented and Reese brought his fist in front of his mouth in thought. After a moment he lifted his head as an idea formed.

"We ask him where we can find the lawyer, but _we_ don't talk to him." He said, holding up Finch's phone in reference to a text message. "Finch does."

"And then what?"

"We follow Shawn and put an end to this." Reese seethed and Carter smirked. It was game on for Mr. Shawn.

9:30 PM

Snow sat at the plain wooden table that stood in the middle of the kitchen of their little hovel of an apartment. He was simply waiting for Evans to return with sandwiches for them all, pre-made from a little 24 hour place down the street. While his other two men sat watching movies on a computer, he had been left to ponder their situation and something told him there would be no waiting until 7:00 PM tomorrow as their informant had planned.

Their man had been away for a few hours now, meeting with someone. He said it was none of their business, but Snow didn't like being left in the dark, not by this guy. It was getting on his last nerve. He was about to call him when said man came in through the door with a bound and struggling man with a black bag over his head.

"Hey, let me go already!" The man was shouting and their informant shouted at him to shut up as he threw him in the other room with the computer nerd.

"What the hell is this, Shawn?" Snow demanded, rising to his feet immediately. "Is one captive not enough for you?"

"We had a little bit of a problem." The tired and breathless brown-haired man answered. He plopped down gracelessly in the chair across from Snow with a hiss of pain. He looked like he'd been shot in the arm.

"Get the first aid kit!" Snow ordered of his other two men and they were up with the medical supplies in an instant. The civilian lawyer sat still as one of Snow's lackeys proceeded to unbutton his shirt and take a look at his bleeding bicep.

"They almost caught on to me." Shawn said through clenched teeth, alcohol being poured over the wound. "Your guy and the two detectives figured it out. I had to take him with me."

"_Two_ detectives?" Snow wondered and Shawn nodded before the bullet was removed from his arm with a cry of pain. Carter he had suspected, but now there was another one involved? He didn't like how complicated this was becoming. "So, who is this guy?"

Shawn looked up at him, teeth still barred from pain as he spoke the name.

Finch was surprised when a commotion broke out in the other room. His head shot up from where it was leaned against the pole at the sound of shouting and a slamming door.

"Hey, let me go already!" He heard scuffling as someone's feet were half-dragged across the floor.

"Shut up!" Someone else shouted, presumably the captor of whoever it was that was demanding to be let go. He thought he recognized that voice, but it was too muffled by the door to tell. He heard footsteps in the hall followed by the unlocking of his own door. It was thrown open and the other captive shoved in. He was completely blind in the dark of the room and fell with a groan.

"What the hell is this, Shawn?" Snow was shouting horridly loud.

"We had a little bit of a problem." Another voice said more quietly, but that was all Finch bothered listening too as he was more focused on what lay before him in the center of the room.

"Son of a…" The other man cursed, staying laid out on the floor. Finch heard a rustling of cloth as it was cast aside, a cloth bag that had been placed over the other man's head. Now he knew for sure who this was and he was more terrified for him than he could have ever been for himself.

"Will…?"


	8. The Bear

A/N: Hey, guys! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I'll probably be posting with a few more days in between now. Sorry, I've got things going on. Don't we all. ;) Will getting taken too is a twist, huh? Lol. Now we see how that happened. Guesses on what animal I chose for Fusco were pretty good. The badger one was pretty close, but I actually chose a bear. He just reminds me a little bit of a bear. He's not violent or suspicious unless he needs to be and the rest of the time, he's pretty tame. Now onto chapter 8! Enjoy! –Freddie

Disclaimer: The characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest, except for Walter Shawn. I created him. Story is mine though. Of course these are just my theories based on their stories.

Chapter 8: The Bear

"Will…?" Finch questioned of the figure on the floor and the man moved to acknowledge his presence. What was he doing there? He and Reese were supposed to be the only ones in danger and they had, in a manner of speaking, signed up for it themselves. How did Will get involved in all of this?

"Who's there?" Will demanded snappishly, with suspicion. "How do you know my name?"

"Will, it's me. Harold. I'm over here." Finch replied quietly, desperately wanting to be rid of his cuffs and get his nephew out of there. The young man got to his knees and headed for the voice until he found him in the back corner.

"Uncle Harold—how did you end up here? What the heck is going on here?" Will asked bewilderedly, raising his plastic-bound hands in the air for emphasis. "Why are you here? Why did my father's finance lawyer just take off with me in the back of a stolen car?"

"I…" Finch started, wanting nothing more than to tell him everything, but stopped realizing the foolishness of doing such a thing. The less Will knew, the safer he was. Of course, now that Will was in the same situation as him, he didn't know how long it was going to stay that way. "I can't tell you why I'm here…or why you're here either."

"Why not?" Will shot back in confusion. Finch hung his head, thankful it was too dark for the only person whom he considered family anymore to see his face, the shame, the remorse, the sadness.

"Because…I'm just as confused as you are." He said quickly, hoping his lie was convincing enough for the sharp young man. "I don't know what's happening either."

"Well, that's just great." Will groaned, sitting back against the wall beside Finch. Based on this reaction, Finch assumed he'd bought the lie and gave an inward sigh of relief. "Don't suppose you'd know who those guys who shot at Shawn were then, huh?"

"What guys?" Finch looked up in surprise, at nothing of course.

"There were three people who tried to save me, two men and a woman. One guy looked like he could be a secret agent or something, the other was a bit shorter, and rounder, with curly hair, and the woman had dark black hair." It couldn't have been…they were working together—all three of them.

"Will, what happened before you got here?"

8:45 PM

Reese peered through his binocular lenses up through the window of young Will Ingram's mid-floor loft. He kept pacing about, looking increasingly agitated about something, presumably the open file folder in his hand. Had he not known that Will had already been in possession of sensitive files, Reese would have found that in itself more than just a little suspicious.

"So?" Fusco asked, breaking Reese from his silent observation. He only slightly scowled. "What do you think? Is he alone or not? He's been pacing back and forth for the past five minutes." John exhaled slowly, trying to keep his patience in check. Fusco's constant interrogation had been more than just a little tiresome.

"Can't say." He said in that low, mysterious voice as he continued to watch their moving target. Well, he couldn't exactly call him a target, more of just a…person of interest at the moment. Then he saw their boy look up at something across the room and he had a hunch it wasn't a clock that had caught his attention. Reese looked on intently as Will began to speak to someone. It was then that he caught a glimpse of Shawn's sharp-featured face in the window, as if he'd mistakenly crossed into its field of visibility, before pulling away.

"Shawn's with him." Reese declared to his cohorts in training as they sat in a car.

"Shoot." Carter hissed. "How do we talk to him now?"

"The only reason we would have had to talk to him at all is to find Shawn." Reese replied and motioned to the window as he spoke. "Found him."

"Now we just sit here and wait to tail this guy?" Fusco asked again and Reese shrugged and gave the shorter man a smirk, one of undecipherable mystery and mischief. Fusco didn't like it when he got that look.

"Who said anything about waiting?"

Not but a few minutes later, Fusco was standing outside the main entrance to Will Ingram's building, wearing a blue baseball cap and dark windbreaker, looking the epitome of an "average Joe". He pressed the call button on the pad beside the door and waited anxiously for a response. _I can't believe this was his plan._

"Hello?" A young voice responded, Reese watching from the sidewalk.

"Oh, thank God, someone's at home." Fusco started excitedly, worriedly, playing his part well.

"Yeah, I'm at home…" Will restated with a tense laugh. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Well, yeah, I was out for a walk and, well, there's a woman here on the ground—she's unconscious—and I can't find my phone! Please, I need help! Can you call the police or something?" Fusco kept glancing at his partner playing dead, laying sprawled out face down on the dirty New York sidewalk.

"Just sit tight! I'm a doctor! I'll be right down!" Will assured and ended the conversation. Fusco expelled the breath he'd been holding and waited for Ingram to exit. He couldn't believe this actually worked.

Will Ingram was down almost immediately with a large first aid bag and Fusco was there to meet him like any concerned citizen would act, and while his back was turned, he failed to see Reese slip in behind him before the door could close. Fusco shook his head in disbelief and returned to their new witness as he took to tending to Carter. Of course, the instant he laid hands on her, she ceased to feign collapse, sitting up immediately.

"What the—?" Will started in utter shock and Carter motioned for him to remain quiet.

"Mr. Ingram, we have reason to believe the man you were with upstairs is a very dangerous man." She explained as she showed him her badge, stern brown eyes conveying her seriousness.

"What? No, he's my dad's lawyer, just going over a few things with me—"

"That's what he wants you to think." Fusco took over and the dirty-blonde-haired man looked up to his apartment worriedly. "You need to come with us."

He didn't reply at first, still staring up, but finally nodded after a moment and allowed himself to be led to their awaiting vehicle.

Reese rounded the corner of the third flight of stairs, gun in hand and pointed at the floor. He was on edge to say the least, not that he expected much of a fight from Shawn, but more at the fact that he would have to try hard to restrain himself from shooting the man he sought. As he approached the door, Reese stepped warily, silently until finally opening the door with unnatural force and speed.

He stormed the room, gun aimed and ready, but when he had gotten a full look around, he found no one inside. A ding from the elevator outside caught his attention and Reese cursed before running out the way he'd come. As he peered over the edge of the railing, he saw that Shawn was already on the ground floor and headed out the door. The ex-CIA man thought about letting off a round at him, but he was already on the street and Reese was behind. Shawn was quite the slippery little snake, he had to give him that.

He had just made it out the door when he heard the sound of breaking glass and shouts.

Fusco walked beside the smartly dressed young doctor, trying to be as vigilant as possible, but even he didn't understand how the thirty-something year old lawyer had been able to throw his arm around Will Ingram's neck from behind and force a gun to his head.

"Walter—?" Will shouted in surprise, but was cut short as his air supply was suddenly constricted. Fear filled his eyes as the gun was jammed into the back of his head, Shawn using him as a shield to protect him from the officers who had their guns pointed at him.

"Shut up, Ingram." Shawn hissed into his ear and he fell silent, staying completely still as Shawn began to negotiate.

"Back off! It's two on one here, Mr. Shawn!" Fusco said over his gun, but both he and Carter took cover behind another car as Shawn fired a warning shot that broke one of the windows in their vehicle.

"It's two on three actually. A hostage counts for double." He shot back devilishly as he turned and eased his way backward towards the black four door. Shawn glanced at it with a smirk, a panicked Will Ingram between him and the detectives. "Keys still in the ignition?" He chastised. "How careless of you."

"So, I'll shoot you before you get to them." Fusco warned and Shawn's upper lip only twitched in amusement at the presumed empty threat.

"No, you won't. I'll kill him the second I see your finger twitch on that trigger." He replied with a renewed shove of the gun against Will's head. With that, he pulled a pair of plastic zip-tie cuffs from his jacket and placed them roughly in his hostage's hand. "Put those on." He ordered and Will complied shakily, pulling them with his teeth. "He's coming with me, detectives, and I think you'd rather not shoot an innocent bystander." He nodded to Will to open the backdoor and he again complied, moving carefully so that he was still a human shield, but once Will had ducked into the car, Fusco let off a round that hit Shawn square in the shoulder.

He cried out in anger and pain, returning fire that allowed him to get in the car and turn on the ignition. Fusco and Carter each shot at him a few times before he had the car started, but after that, they wouldn't risk shooting and hitting the man in the backseat, not from their poor angle.

Shawn was off at the sounds of skidding rubber and a revved engine, Reese running towards the car just in time to aim at the tires, but get nothing but rim. The detectives let their frustration known, holstering their guns unhappily.

"I told him I'd shoot him before he got to the keys." Fusco growled, breaking the silence.

"Shoot," Carter sighed, taking to her feet once again as Fusco also rose from his kneeling position. "We lost him."

Reese approached from behind, shaking his head and holding up Finch's phone. "No, we didn't."

"You didn't…" Carter grinned. "You wanted him to take that car."

"Low jack?" Fusco questioned and Reese nodded, accessing the GPS on the smartphone in his hand. "Clever."

"Now we know exactly where they're going."

9:45 PM

Finch listened intently as Will recounted to him the events of just an hour ago. He couldn't help a smile at his partner's action, however much he disapproved of Carter and Fusco's involvement with this case, his rescue. He couldn't deny his unhappiness, but when push comes to shove as it had, he wouldn't be one to argue.

"You're sure you don't know who they are?" He pestered and Finch shook his head in the dark.

"I really don't know who these people are or what alerted them to danger, Will." Finch replied. "But I am glad someone was looking out for you."

"Uncle Harold, do you think this has something to do with what my dad was working on?" Will wondered of him sincerely and Finch again was grateful for the darkness in which he hid.

"Who knows?" He shrugged and they fell into silence for a few long minutes until Will proceeded to break it.

"What are you hiding from me?" Finch stiffened up as Will spoke accusingly. "I know he told you something. He had to. I know whatever my dad made is what got us into this and I bet it's because you know what it is that they took us both." He could hear the anger in his nephew's voice and the desire to tell him everything rose up once again, but the memory of what happened to the last person who knew about the machine and knowing the trouble it continued to cause him and Reese, Finch could do nothing more than continue to lie.

However, he didn't get the chance to reply as the door was swung open, the light switched on, and one of Snow's men threw a key to Ingram, a gun trained on him as he stared back up at him.

"Unlock his cuffs from around the pole and relock them. Then toss the key back to me." The stiff ordered. "Try anything and I shoot you."

Finch and Will shared a look before he kneeled beside Finch and did as told, finishing by throwing the key back to the agent.

"Now, get up. We're moving out."


	9. The Chase

A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! I'm really glad you're all enjoying this story so much! I apologize for the late post. It's been a crazy week. Obviously ignores Root Cause and Wolf and Cub. Lol. Anyway, have at it! Enjoy! –Freddie

Disclaimer: The characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest, except for Walter Shawn. I created him. Story is mine though. Of course these are just my theories based on their stories.

Chapter 9: The Chase

Finch and Will were steered roughly by their shoulders down the stairs and further on to the sidewalk, jarred back and forth to keep them unbalanced and disoriented, unable to run. Of course, with black cloth bags over their heads they were already disoriented enough, and Will almost fell, ramming into Shawn, Finch presumed, when he heard the angry lawyer scold his captive. Finch wanted to retort, to step in for his nephew, but his attention was focused on his own footing as he was forced too quickly ahead for his limping leg. He almost fell too, but as he began to trip, he was stopped by slamming into the side of a van.

_Nice landing, Harold._ He thought sarcastically as he was ordered to step up into the van and sit on the floor. It wasn't until the door was shut that Shawn removed the bags from their heads and allowed to look around the windowless backside of the vehicle. It looked like a work van of some kind, with no seating save for the driver's and front passenger seat, occupied by Snow in a non-descript hoodie that matched Shawn's. However, the others were not there as the van took off.

######

Reese, Carter, and Fusco watched vigilantly from their hotwired black four door, parked down the street from where Snow and his men had been hiding out. Carter hadn't been too keen on stealing a car, but there was no time to argue. Besides, Finch would reimburse the owner somehow when they got him back. They watched as two men in black hoodies forced their bagged captives into a van, the shorter one limping and the taller one merely stumbling from lost equilibrium into the man Reese believed to be Shawn. They were hiding their faces pretty well in the night, not to mention a broken streetlight played to their advantage.

Fusco fidgeted in the back seat, Carter nearly as anxious as he was. Reese didn't want to risk a gunfight, but he also didn't want the mess of a car chase, however, when the car sped off before he could make a move, he realized a car chase was what it was going to be, or at least a very obvious tail.

Reese didn't have the forethought to warn his passengers before starting the car and speeding off in pursuit with a lurch. They must have known he was watching them.

"What the h—?" Carter started in surprise, but Reese was only focused on the car in front of them that carried his partner.

"Sorry," He muttered, steering wildly as the van took sudden, jerking turns down the empty city streets. "Get ready. We're in for a fight."

As he had predicted, gunshots started to fly from the van, shattering the windshield and sending glass flying. They all covered their faces, but Reese didn't stop driving. Carter pointed her gun out the window and started to shoot back furiously, ducking down when necessary. Fusco got to the left side and began shooting too, aiming for the tires. He finally hit one and the van skidded and swerved as it lost control.

Reese's heart skipped beat as it tipped and rolled completely over, settling on its right side, driver's door up. That was not part of the plan. Shoot, there was no plan. He slammed on the brakes, jerking to a stop just beside the black van and ran to the back door, throwing it open with his gun drawn as Fusco and Carter covered the other side. He prayed they hadn't just killed the men they sought to save.

"Harold! Ingram!" He called, hoping to receive a response but there was no reply. Reese looked in on the two figures lying strewn across the side of the hollow van, bags over their heads and bound. They weren't moving. Alarmed, Reese stowed his weapon and kneeled beside them, rolling the first man onto his back as Fusco went to the second. Carter looked through to the driver, unconscious and hanging limply, his seatbelt keeping him in place. The airbag had blown in his face and his head was bleeding. The engine was still on.

"It's Evans, Snow's partner. He doesn't look good." She winced, turning off the ignition and motioned to Fusco to help her get him out.

Reese, meanwhile, took to overseeing the two unconscious captives, but he noticed something immediately wrong. These men were of two different builds than Finch and Will Ingram. He reached for one of the bags with a scowl and swiftly swiped it from his head. The man behind the mask was definitely not his boss and the other definitely not Will. He threw the bags aside with a curse. These were Snow's men, made to look like captives.

"We've been led on." He declared and Carter and Fusco shook their heads in frustration. "They must have taken another van."

######

As Snow drove, suddenly, Shawn crouched down and grabbed the front of Finch's vest with his good arm, looking him angrily in the face. "I have your little hound dog and his detective buddies to thank for this." He growled, referring to his right shoulder, arm supported by a makeshift sling. Finch returned the gaze defiantly.

"Hound dog?" Will repeated curiously. "I thought you said you didn't know who those people were?"

Finch clenched his jaw as both he and Shawn glanced at Will, Finch wishing his nephew would have held his tongue.

"Doesn't know those people?" Shawn laughed, shaking his head. "Of course he knows them. He hired them." Will glared at Harold and he looked away, focusing only on Shawn.

"You're wrong. I didn't hire them." Finch replied. "I hired Mr. Reese. The other two he recruited himself." _Against my expressed orders not to…_ He added mentally and Shawn shrugged.

"All the same, one of them shot me in the shoulder." He continued with a crazed smirk that only grew as he withdrew his gun from his pocket and pointed it at Finch. Finch's breath caught in his throat and Will started to protest as he cocked it. "I just think I ought to return the favor."

"Shawn—!" Snow shouted back at him, but he was too late. The gun went off and Finch cried out as a bullet embedded itself in his side.

"Uncle Harold!" Will shouted and Finch curled in on himself, trying to put pressure on the wound. Will crossed the side of the van, despite Shawn's presence, and helped him to lie back, also putting pressure on the bleeding hole in his torso. Finch stared at Will as he winced from the pain while Shawn only watched on stonily. "Hold on, you'll be okay!"

"What are you doing, Shawn? We need him unharmed until I have Reese!" He reminded him furiously, but Shawn only laughed and pointed the gun at his head. Snow stiffened, but continued driving. "We had a deal, Mr. Shawn." Snow said steadily and Shawn just snorted and smiled, cocking the gun.

"Deal's off."


	10. The Maze

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry for the wait! I've had no time to write… Here's chapter 10! I'm planning on a few more chapters so we're almost to the end of this little adventure, but don't worry there's lots more action to come. Since Will has pretty much left the picture for now in the series, this is definitely AU, but it's fanfiction, right? Enjoy! –Freddie.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to the awesome makers of Person of Interest, minus Walter Shawn. He's mine, not that I want him…He's a jerk. Story is mine, but just my musings based off the PoI episodes.

Chapter 10: The Maze

Finch clenched his teeth unnecessarily hard from the pain, staring up at the vehicle's white roof. His side burned and he was beginning to feel sick from blood loss, despite Will's pressing down on the wound. He wondered how Reese was still capable of walking when he had been shot, not once but two times. As he lay there, he couldn't help remembering what he had once told his partner. _"Sooner or later, we'll probably both end up dead." _He had said this and meant ever bit of it. He just didn't expect his prediction to come true so soon.

"Will—," He started, sounding as horrid as he felt, gasping suddenly as pain spiked through him.

"Shh, it's okay, Uncle Harold. You're going to be okay." Will replied reassuringly, keeping pressure on the wound.

"_Shh, it'll be okay." _Ingram had said as he was kneeling beside him just like his son was now.

Finch froze, remembering in that instant how his friend had spoken to him in his weakened state. It was ironic, really, him wounded again and an Ingram kneeling over him.

"_N-No, i-it won't…be okay….It won't—it won't be okay, because that's not how this was meant to play out was it?"_

"No, it won't…" He muttered, so low that Will had not caught it as he watched the exchange between Shawn and Snow.

"Shawn, what are you doing?" Snow pestered angrily, fully aware of the gun pointed at his head. He didn't care to show that he was afraid, but inwardly he couldn't deny it. "You break our deal and you'll be hunted to the ground by federal agents."

"Pft, some threat that is." Shawn snorted, never ceasing to smirk. "I have all the information I need to evade any suited thugs you send my way. I'll always be five steps ahead of you. Now, pull over and get the hell out." He ordered, face hardening as he glowered down at the man whom he now had at his mercy. Snow exhaled slowly, but nodded and did as told, pulling off to the right. "Turn the engine off, leave the keys in the ignition, and walk around the front to the sidewalk."

He nodded again and unbuckled slowly, holding his hands aloft in case Shawn thought him a threat. He was out of the car when Shawn followed him out the back side door of the van and shut it, leaving Will and Finch alone for a moment, but a moment was just enough.

Finch saw that look in Will's eye and he shook his head weakly. No, he couldn't be thinking what he thought he was thinking.

"No, Will—," He croaked. Will only looked down at him and shook his head in return, determination and fear mixed in his eyes as he glanced between the driver's seat and the side view mirror, Shawn standing with a gun still pointed at Snow. "Don't do it."

Will smiled, but did not reply, only positioning Finch's hands to press over the wound before crouching in preparation for a leap for the front seat. Finch tried to crane his head to watch, but his stiffened neck and the pain in his side made it too much of a challenge. He was about to put it in drive when the sound of a gunshot and a cry of pain made them both start. Will looked to the side to see Shawn pointing the gun at him, rather than the man lying on the sidewalk with a bullet in his chest. He looked down at the side of the door and he had to hide his shock at what lay in the pocket: Snow's gun.

Shawn shook his head slowly and Will put his hands in the air as Shawn re-entered through the back side door of the van, settling across from Finch and pointing the gun lazily at him. Finch glared despite his fear.

"I was going to have you drive anyway. Do everything I tell you. Try anything stupid and…well, I think you catch my drift." Shawn chuckled, shifting the gun closer to Finch and Will gulped, drawing a shaky breath before nodding his understanding. "Good."

"What do you want with my uncle and me?" Will dared to ask as he started the car and pulled away from the curb. Shawn laughed and met Finch's glare with a steely gaze of his own.

"You wanted to find out what your father was working on, right, Will?" He replied and Finch's breath caught in his throat. Will only looked straight ahead, glancing to the side for a moment in an awkward show of confusion of the truth.

"Yes—I did. What does any of this mess have to do with that?" He asked, already fearing the answer. Finch too knew that Shawn was going to try and make Will believe that this was all his fault, but he wouldn't allow it.

"Will, you didn't have anything to do with this! Whatever he's trying to tell you, this wasn't your fault! It's mine—" Finch shouted and Shawn backhanded him across the face.

"Shut up, Finch!"

"It's Wren!" Will corrected and Shawn scoffed.

"Finch, Wren, _Parakeet_…whatever the hell you've decided to go by now!" He finished and stared hatefully down at his wounded hostage, conveniently taking his focus off of Will for a moment so he could grab the gun stowed in the side pocket of the door and put it in his pocket. "I can assure you, you won't have to worry about what name to choose next."

"How do you know my uncle anyway?" Will pestered, trying to turn the attention back on him. Finch only watched in suspicion, having seen Will reach down, but unable to see what he had grabbed. He had a sinking feeling he knew what it was.

"The same way I knew your father. I worked for him." Shawn replied, smirking at Finch as he was about to reveal his secret.

"You worked in the insurance business too?" He asked innocently and Shawn laughed.

"Not quite…" He replied. "And neither does your beloved uncle…"

Will's brows furrowed in continued confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Pull off here." Shawn ordered, ignoring his last question and Will did as told.

"Where are we?" He wondered as Shawn opened the door and Finch turned to see where it was he had taken them. His already pale face paled further. "It's just another abandoned building."

"Maybe that's a question Harold should answer." He said, redirecting Will's attention to his uncle as Shawn pointed the gun at him again. "Tell him where we are unless you want me to tell him for you."

"_Harold! Hey, Harold, are you here?" _

"_Of course, Nathan, where else would I be?" He mused and Ingram laughed as he approached, holding a steaming paper cup in each hand. As he came closer, he extended one to Finch, presumably a green tea as noted by the tag hanging from the side. He smiled and accepted it gratefully._

"_I don't know." Ingram shrugged. "You never have to leave this hole. You have all you need in one place…I would assume that you wouldn't want to leave unless absolutely necessary."_

_ "…I have what I need that permits me the opportunity of not leaving, but not everything one needs can be found in stale air and four walls." _

_ "Hah, four walls." Ingram laughed. "This place is like a maze…I can't tell you how many times I've gotten lost coming here."_

_ "I planned it that way." Finch smirked and Ingram gave him an annoyed look while sipping his coffee. "You never know when you might need to shake someone off your tail."_

"Uncle Harold?" Will's voice broke him from his revere and he closed his eyes. He had hoped he could have kept this a secret forever, but secrets often have a funny way of finding their way out. "What is this place?"

"This is where it all began."


	11. The Secret

A/N: Hey, guys! Bringing you chapter 11! I hope this lives up to your expectations. To answer Setoglomper's question, I am going under the premise that Finch is Will's uncle by title only, not by family. Ingram and Finch met in college so them being paternal brothers is out. Will's mom could be Finch's sister. However, I haven't picked up on a clue that he even has a sister, so I'm sticking with the "honorary uncle" title as Finch and Ingram were definitely close enough to call each other brothers. But, that's just my thoughts. Lol. On to the story! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I've said it 10 times earlier; need I say it 10 times more…? Characters and PoI are not mine. Just story and Walter Shawn are mine.

Chapter 11: The Secret

Fusco and Reese stood up from their place beside the two fake captives and Evans after handcuffing them all three to a stop sign, limply slouched over like a regular pack of rag dolls. None of them had stirred, but a cell phone ringing stopped them both in their tracks. Reese turned his head slowly to face the detective beside him.

"You know, failure to search your captives properly is exactly how I was able to blow up your car, Fusco…" Reese growled and Fusco shrugged as they sought the source of the ringing.

"They're out cold!" Fusco said defensively.

"So was I." Reese shot back with a smirk as his hand finally found the phone in Evans' jacket pocket. He looked at the caller id and his eyebrows furrowed, not hesitating to answer. "Nice little show you put on for us, Mark. It ended badly for your people. They haven't woken up yet."

"John," Snow rasped in reply, breathing heavily. He was obviously in distress and, despite the situation, that worried him, but not because he had worked with the man in another life. "I've been shot."

"Why does that concern me?" John asked coldly, but really he knew that if Snow had been shot, then that meant his partner was potentially in more danger than before. He knew Snow wouldn't hurt him until Reese had given himself up, but Shawn…that was another story. After all, he already had his end of their bargain.

"Shawn's off the radar. He took off with your guy and the kid." Snow continued, coughing. Reese cursed inwardly. His boss—no—his _friend_, was in the hands of a madman, unchecked, unhindered.

"Where did he go, Snow?" Reese demanded.

"I don't know, but I had the van tagged in case he tried something…"

"Negotiating now, are we, Mark?" Reese smirked, already knowing where this was headed.

"Considering you have something I want and I have something you want, I would say yes." Snow replied and Reese nodded. "You let my men go and I'll give you coordinates."

"No, I have a better idea." Reese proposed. "I let your men and you go _instead of finishing you myself_, you give me the coordinates, _and_ you leave here and never come searching for me again. _Ever_."

"Forgive me for being paranoid, John, but the last time I made a deal it blew up in my face." Snow retorted, uncooperative, at which John upped the ante.

"Or, I kill your men, let you die, and have a certain NYPD friend locate the van for me. You help me get them back and your name never crosses my mind again, but if you don't help me and I _don't_ get them back, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and, so help me, Snow, _I will kill you_." By the end, his voice had gone so low, so menacing that Carter and Fusco were left staring in disbelief. Of course, they knew that this was no empty threat. "Your choice, Mark; It doesn't matter to me."

After a pause, Snow replied grudgingly. "Fine; you let my men go, we stop looking for you, and I'll give you the coordinates of the van, but what if you're too late?"

"For your sake, you better hope I'm not, Snow." Reese seethed and waited a moment before prodding him again. "Where. Are. They?"

"I think you already know, John."

He had a feeling he did and he didn't like it. Where would Shawn take his former boss? To the place where Finch created the machine, to end it where it all began.

Finch hobbled as best as his wounded torso allowed, leaning heavily on Will through the pain. As he did so, he couldn't help but stare up at the building, the place where he had wandered just a few hours earlier, and thought back on the last time he had set foot inside. This was the first time he had crossed the threshold since, and he thought dolefully that it might just be his last, unless Reese decided to jump in with one of his miraculous last second rescues. Of course, Finch wondered when Reese would run out of perfect timings.

"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with what my father sold to the government, would it, Uncle Harold?" Will questioned suspiciously as they approached the front door, but Finch would only remain silent.

"You see that, Will?" Shawn taunted. "He's hiding something as always; doesn't even know how to trust the people he cares about. And you know what? His hiding, his greatest secret; that's what got your father killed."

Will and Finch equally froze in shock, Finch not expecting to have his secret thrown into the open and Will not expecting to hear that a man he had trusted all his life was responsible for the death of his father. The worst part was…Finch couldn't deny any of it.

"What?" Will choked and Finch had the sudden desire to step away from his best friend's son, to get as far away from him as possible. He felt himself overcome with guilt, with shame. "You're lying." He continued, shooting Shawn a scathing look, but he only shook his head in a laughing smile.

"You said you wanted to know what your father and your 'uncle' were working on, didn't you, Will?" He replied. "Well, here I am about to show you everything, the thing that I found out about and what this man, right here, had me fired for. He had me followed and threatened. He blackmailed me, tracked me; dug up everything about me and left little clues that told me he knew every step I took until I was made sufficiently insane and would stop digging."

Finch glared up at him, unnoticed by Will. Again, Finch couldn't deny it. That was what made this whole thing so much more complicated. When it came to the machine, everything was complicated…

January 2008

"_You…" Finch glared, trying to move his hand so he could punch the man, but Ingram held his arms secure as he squirmed in pain. He thought Ingram only pretending to be acting out of worry for his friend. _

"_Now, now, don't move, Harold." He ordered as the helpless man's glare turned to despair, a look of utter betrayal on his face. "It looks like you're going to be out of commission for a while."_

_ "I thought we were partners…" Finch whispered, eyelids becoming very heavy. He probably had a concussion. He couldn't let himself fall asleep. "You betrayed me…" He said through blurry eyes and Ingram nodded._

_ "Don't take it personal, Harold." He said steadily, holding Finch's failing gaze. "If I hadn't done this, someone else would have."_

"What?" Finch asked, suddenly even more confused. "No one knows about me. Who would—?"

"_They_ _know_, Harold. The NSA, they know I'm not the one who built the machine."

"How—we hid our arrangement so well…?" Finch asked with wide eyes and Ingram looked away sadly, clearly unhappy with what he had done. "You told them—when? Why? How come I wasn't there?"

"You couldn't have been there. I was alone. They approached me at home." Ingram said, truthfully shaken. "They said they wanted to tie up loose ends, make sure they were the only ones who knew about the machine's capabilities, how it worked. They were going to kill me right there, on the spot, and I was going to let them but-"

"You panicked…" Harold filled in and Ingram nodded solemnly. "Your son…"

"I told them about you, how it was all your work, just to save my own skin." He finished shamefully and Finch swallowed painfully, angry, but understanding all the same. "I'm sorry, Harold."

"I…" He stopped, feeling increasingly tired. And that's when it hit him. "What did you put in my tea, Nathan?"

Ingram sighed.

"I hoped you wouldn't notice." He said with his head hung low. "In just a minute, you're going to go into a very deep sleep. Your pulse will be so minimal that a heart monitor won't be able to detect it. The ambulance that's coming works for me. They're going to have you pronounced dead and shown to be dead to the NSA agents that will follow."

"I see…you're killing me to save me." Harold smiled weakly, feeling the effects of the drug as his body became very relaxed. "That's something I would do." Finch chuckled.

"As you say, my friend: only the paranoid survive." Ingram nodded with a smile of his own until it changed to sadness and concern as his partner unwillingly slipped away.

"Go under the radar. You always said you were the better lurker. Fight back. Do it for me." He smiled hopelessly, but rebelliously, like this was the only way _he_ could fight back. "Use the access you set up for yourself to save the irrelevant, the ones like you and me that slipped through the cracks. Use every alias you have, but just don't let them find you, ever." He paused. "Don't you try to save me, Harold, because you know what's going to happen in the end. I know what I have to do from here on out. I'm walking in the dark now, we both are…"

"_No…I…I can't…"_ Finch wanted to say, but his words remained unspoken as he looked up blurrily, remaining conscious enough to see the shadows of ambulance workers descend upon him and the shadows of the government agency that pulled his best friend away from him. _"I can't let you die…" _

"Forgive me…" Ingram's voice was like a whisper as shadows took Finch too, but the shadows that took him were the cover that would allow him to fight back.

_No, Nathan, forgive __**me**__…_

January 2012

"Uncle Harold, is all of this true?" Will demanded and Finch did the one thing he hated to do. He admitted it with a slight nod of his head.

At that, Will pulled away from him, leaving him to lean against a wall. "Will, I'm so sorry. Let me explain—."

"Shut up, Harold." Finch stopped short and his breath caught in his throat, so startled he was by the shear animosity in his nephew's voice, but that wasn't the only thing that stopped him in his tracks. It was the gun in his hands and it was pointed at him…


	12. The Snake

A/N: Hey guys! I do apologize for the delay, but it was unfortunately unavoidable…This is a really short chapter, but I'm finishing it up! Hope you enjoyed the last chapter! Bringing you chapter 12!

Disclaimer: PoI not mine. Story and Shawn are mine.

Chapter 12: The Snake

"_Shut up, Harold." Finch stopped short and his breath caught in his throat, so startled he was by the shear animosity in his nephew's voice, but that wasn't the only thing that stopped him in his tracks. It was the gun in his hands and it was pointed at him…_

Harold stared at the gun in shock and fear. So it had come to this. His payment for allowing his best friend to die in his place was to be killed by the boy who honored him by calling him "uncle". As the old saying goes, blood is thicker than water, and when it came down to it, Harold was just water.

"Will, you don't understand—,"

"You're right. I don't understand." Will replied acidly, turning to Shawn even as he kept the gun trained on Finch, who still leaned against the wall. "Now, what were you saying, Walter?"

Shawn grinned eagerly, glancing smugly back at Finch. He had won the boy over to his side now and he was reveling in it, but Will wasn't having any of that as he turned the gun on him instead.

"Talk!" He demanded and Shawn was visibly shaken by Will Ingram's sudden change in demeanor. Finch was unnerved. He had never seen this in his nephew before. "If you're not going to talk than you're of no use to me…" The gun clicked in warning and both Finch and Shawn gasped in surprise.

"Look, Ingram, you don't know what you've got in your hands—," A shot rang out and a bullet whizzed right past Shawn's head, leaving him stunned.

"I've been a medic in some of the nastiest parts of the world, Shawn. I know _exactly_ what I've got in my hands." Will said, face as hard as stone: "Your life."

Slowly, Shawn began to laugh despite his situation. "You, Mr. Ingram, are as crafty as your father and Harold."

"Oh? How so?" Will shot back sarcastically and Shawn nodded as if impressed.

"You wanted to know what it was your father was working on and here I am presenting it to you on a silver platter and you turn on me just like that." He snapped his fingers together, watching as Will flinched. Whatever mask of bravado young Will had been putting on was quickly unraveling and Shawn knew it. Finch did not like this at all, but all he could do was watch this drama unfold.

"Enough of this; you were about to tell me. Spit it out!" Walter took a few cautious steps toward the man holding the gun and Will did nothing. He did not shoot. He only glared.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" Shawn taunted and spread his arms out in surrender. "I know that first shot was simply an attempt to look brave, but would you shoot an unarmed man? Would Will Ingram, the humanitarian, pull that trigger with intent to kill?"

"I know you would." Will said, swallowing as he realized the tricky situation he put himself in. "As for me, humanitarian or not, I don't think I'm above defending myself."

"Will, please, don't make yourself like him." Harold pleaded, pulling Will's gaze away from Shawn as he spoke. "You have to understand that what we did was for good. What we made, the secrets I kept. They were all to protect people, but when our creation came back to bite us, your father sacrificed himself to protect me and you can see what happened to me. I regret keeping so many secrets, but…some things should just _stay_ hidden."

As Finch had spoken, Will had lowered his weapon, distracting them both from Shawn as he pulled his own gun from behind and took aim. He didn't have to speak, he could've just shot them right there, but another gunshot stopped him first, one that left a bloody hole in his gut and put a strange, petrified look on his face. He fell to his knees and another to the heart sent him flying backwards onto the ground, dead.

Will and Finch were so startled that it didn't process right away what had happened, but when they looked to the door, they could have shouted for joy. Reese. Carter. Fusco? Who cared if Reese had tacked onto the team (for just this once, Finch would assure him)? They'd made it. Finch guessed Reese hadn't run out of perfect timings after all and for that, he was grateful. However, his gratitude would have to wait. He looked down at his side and immediately felt dizzy from blood loss. Maybe he had thought too soon.

"Finch!" Reese shouted and ran for his boss as he collapsed, sliding down the wall to a curled up heap on the floor.

"Oh God, Uncle Harold!" Will cried, but he was already unconscious. Reese had made it in time to save them from Shawn, but would they be in time to save Finch from a bullet?


	13. The Caged Bird Sings

A/N: Hey guys! It's been fun, but this is the last chapter! Really short just to wrap it all up. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Anyway, this is an ending I had written back when I wrote the first chapter in January, with some additions and alterations of course. Obviously a lot has changed in the show since I started this, so it's AU. Haha. Enjoy! –Freddie

Chapter 13: The Caged Bird Sings

Hospitals were out of the question, but luckily for Finch, his nephew was a pretty damn good substitute. It wasn't as hard as one might think to cover up their mess. Shawn was shot with Carter's gun and both Carter and Fusco claimed they'd been in the right place at the right time to catch him breaking into the abandoned building. They claimed Shawn had aimed his gun at them and so the inevitable came to pass. Of course, Reese, Will, and Finch were long gone before Carter called for backup.

Will wasn't in the best of moods about the whole sticky affair, but he found it a little hard to be mad after all that had happened. Once Finch had recovered, he offered to come clean and tell Will everything, but he only shook his head and said: "No, I think whatever secret you're keeping should stay a secret. I…trust you on this one."

Finch was more than happy to oblige and didn't push the matter. It was then that Will voiced his intentions of disappearing for a while. He couldn't argue with him and it was not but a few more days before his nephew had left the city, most likely left the country. Finch didn't blame him.

Before Finch's own disappearance, Nathan Ingram told him to never come back, but come back to the company Finch did when he felt it safe to do so, at first failing attempts to save people and torturing himself with his wall of numbers turned faces. But that was the past. This was now. Now, he had Reese and together they were successful. He hated to think about how even that had almost come to an end.

"This was only the first of many attempts to stop us, Finch." Reese said. "We're playing with more than fire, here. We're playing Lethal Weapon. You almost got yourself killed."

"And so did you, remember?"

"I've already been killed, _remember_?"

"And _so have I_, Mr. Reese." Finch remarked. "My own partner was the one to do it."

Reese stared openly at him. "Why?"

"Because he knew that if he was the one to kill me then he could also save me, as well as his family." He explained. "His number came up on the machine. I ran after him, straight in front of a delivery truck. He told me that he had planned it that way, that it was because he had planned to kill me that his number came up."

"Why didn't your number come up?"

"Who's to say? My number's not in the system. I took it out." Finch shrugged, which was met with a slight smirk and an impressed nod from Reese. "He said that someone from the NSA had approached him at home, telling him they were going to kill him so no one else would know about the machine. Understandably, he tried to find an out."

"That coward." Reese breathed angrily and Finch shook his head.

"No, that man was my friend and killing me was the least cowardly thing he could ever do. He submitted himself to an agency that was holding his life by a thread, even when I was the one who created it all..." Finch sighed and Reese cocked his head to the side, prodding him to go on. "He had spiked my drink that morning just before I was hit.

"He told me they'd put on a show and hide me, but not before he charged me with continuing to use the machine in secret, to save people like he had wanted. I tried and tried for two years before he too was finally killed by the same agency we had served, all in the name of patriotism..." He paused somberly.

"Are you sure you want to keep going on like this?" Reese asked gently, but Finch didn't answer right away.

Instead he looked up from his screen at the little flight-less bird as it chirped melodically in its ornate cage beside him. Finch often felt like a caged bird, caged by his injury, caged by his identities—and a similar lack thereof—but that couldn't and wouldn't stop him from doing the right thing. The Machine was the song that gave this caged bird his worth, and he would never stop until the day fate found him unable.

At Finch's own rebellious smile, Reese broke into a wide, fox like grin.

"Does not the caged bird still sing, Mr. Reese?"


End file.
